


love is a hot pink disaster

by crocustongues



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 21:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13109031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocustongues/pseuds/crocustongues
Summary: between the lines, a hideous sweater, and seemingly unrequited feelings, Shirabu comes to realise that epiphanies are followed by Christmas miracles





	love is a hot pink disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicPrincess655](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicPrincess655/gifts).



> this is for actual superstar Grace, as part of the haikyuuwriters' secret santa event!! the prompts were all super festive so i ended up picking caught under the mistletoe and first Christmas together (sort of?)!!! i hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!! (੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

When Shirabu moves into the university dorms, he doesn’t expect to see a single familiar face so far away from home. When he returns home to his dorm for the last time that week, ready to jump into bed, he drops his keys and his jaw when he spots a familiar silver head across the hallway.

What happens next is unprecedented; he calls out (yes, _he, Shirabu Kenjirou_ , notorious for leaving messages on _read_ and not returning phone calls, _calls out_ ) to one Semi Eita, across the dorm hall.

Semi turns around in surprise, and it beats Shirabu how anyone could look this gorgeous while looking _this confused_. Shirabu, clearly not having thought his actions through beforehand, waves awkwardly in hopes that Semi would perhaps recognise him and wave back, and he scolds the unrequited crush from his high school days that dares raise its ugly head.

He does much more than that, and Shirabu can feel the delight in the smile that threatens to crack Semi’s face in half as he walks over to where Shirabu is standing.

And it begins then, Shirabu will understand, many, _many_ months later, three hundred and sixty-five days, in fact, curled up next to another boy, fingers and legs entwined, in a warm patch of sunlight.

They slot into each other’s lives like it was meant to be, scolding and lecturing and arguing the patience out of each other.

The clothes are the first things he notices, most notably, the bright pink sweater that Semi insists on wearing throughout fall. Every time Shirabu asks him why he wears it, it’s like Semi makes up a fancy colour name to validate his choices. So far, they have fuchsia, magenta, light crimson, red but to the left, and inverse blue. And the worst bit is, Semi looks downright divine in it. Shirabu isn’t one to speak in hyperboles but he’s truly at a loss for words when it comes to describing Semi.

“It’s _ugly_ , and I’m going to ban you from my dorm.”

“It’s a masterpiece and you love having me here.”

“You’re an eyesore,” Shirabu replies after a beat of silence and Semi settles down to watch another episode of his K-drama.

So far (exactly three months and twelve days), Shirabu could tell you lots of things about Semi—he likes coffee, but can’t stand tea, has a cat back home named Rice, smells like lime and ash and cinnamon, and really, _really_ adores his bright pink sweater, which Shirabu has begun to suspect he wears just to spite him.

But there’s so much he still can’t put into words; Semi is a study in dichotomies, sharp angular features that soften magically under the light from his laptop screen long after he has fallen asleep, and Shirabu’s _this_ close to waking him up but settles for draping a blanket over him. Or when Semi finds it so _easy_ to make him a bowl of fruit in the morning despite having viciously argued back and forth with Shirabu over the most trivial of matters the night before. Or when Semi flatly refuses to let Shirabu work past a certain amount and distracts him with false promises of freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate. He hates how it works every single time.

There is a soft understanding between them, unspoken and unshaken, and perhaps it stems from having known each other from before but Shirabu hopes (against hope) that it's rooted in another emotion.

It’s futile to think of it as anything other than friendly concern, but Shirabu’s mind stubbornly refuses to let go of the idea and it brews and brews into a mess, so much so, that one evening, three months and twenty days later, he poses the question to Semi himself.

“Hey, Eita, can I ask you a question?”

“That was one already, but go ahead,” Semi answers, and Shirabu really, _really_ tries not to think about the little quirk of Semi’s lips at the end of his smile.

The silence is bone-meltingly, chillingly hard to live through, and Shirabu’s trying his best to ignore the warmth of Semi’s thighs over his own.

“What would you say if someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person? And if they wanted to stop?”

“Firstly, that’s two questions,” Semi’s smile turns upside down, thoughtful and serious, “but if it was me, I’d want to know if I really wanted to stop thinking about this person. If I’m thinking about them so often, they clearly mean a fortune to me, do I really want to stop that little bit of happiness I get when I think of them?”

Shirabu’s heartbeat echoes in his ears and it’s only by chance he can hear Semi from this point forward.

“I’d say, figure out what the other person thinks.”

So Shirabu does, because he’s an honours student and he’s _smart_ like that.

“Do _you_ like anyone?”

Semi turns his gaze upwards and in the silence, Shirabu can hear his own breath pass through his heartstrings.

“Yes. I like to think he likes me, too.”

“Oh.”

And that was that, Shirabu hadn’t wanted to know anymore, caging his thoughts in his heart, and they’d fallen asleep on the couch together, watching another K-drama Shirabu thought had something to do with Christmas, a party, and a miracle.

They live in the same town, and the same snow-laden area, they find, and there’s a high school reunion on Christmas Eve. Semi all but drags Shirabu into the mayhem and he finds himself standing next to his old classmate, Kawanishi, who’s holding the same drink and expression Shirabu himself is, at the chaos, but more importantly, at the _decoration_. Every inch of every visible surface is drowned in tinsel and mistletoe and other Christmas-themed paraphernalia.

“It’s been a while,” Kawanishi nods, by way of greeting.

“Yeah. I hope you’ve been well?” Shirabu asks in return, and the small talk continues about the weather, their majors, a cat Kawanishi saw on the way to the party, and Shirabu finds it oddly comforting.

They’re inevitably roped into party games, for this is a Christmas party, after all, and they’re here to have fun. They start off with truth or dare, like all party games do, and it’s a different level of fun Shirabu’s used to (a different league altogether from watching kdramas and arguing about who the best singer from High School Musical was).

 _Fun_ , that is, until suddenly, it’s Shirabu’s turn and Tendou (whom he remembers from Chess Club) asks him if he’s ever been in _love_.

The textbook definition of love—electrifying kisses and _I love you_ s and sung by a good looking boy with dark hair and a soulful voice on stage—isn’t something Shirabu has given a single, solitary thought to, but in front of several pairs of curious eyes, he’s forced to think.

And it it strikes him with such force and clarity, he’s certain his answer is clear to everyone present. So he mumbles a _yes_ and excuses himself to the washroom.

There’s more to love than lyrics belted out at a concert—it’s watching K-dramas at 4 o’clock in the morning before an 8 am lecture, it’s an ugly hot pink sweater, it’s a love song playing on a record player a couple of rooms away. It’s Semi, and will always be, at least for Shirabu, and one moment they’re not there, but the next, the tears slide down Shirabu’s cheeks.

It’s only through the corner of his eye he catches the glare of the raspberry sweater at the doorway, and he tries to wipe his tears as best he can.

“Kenjirou—“

“I’m good, Eita, I just don’t feel well, I’m going home—“

“ _Kenjirou_.” There’s a degree of urgency and uncertainty in Semi’s voice that stops Shirabu in his tracks, and Semi moves to hold both of Shirabu’s hands in his own, and Shirabu will remember this moment with an intense clarity—the warmth of Semi’s hands, the look in his eyes, and most importantly—

“Look up,” Semi instructs, and lo and behold, Shirabu spots a single spring of mistletoe hanging over the doorway, and for the second time that night, realisation strikes Shirabu so hard, it stings. He gathers all his courage and loses his inhibitions; he shuts his eyes and leans in, to be met with another pair of lips. A burst of euphoria, and the bird in his heart is set free from the cage made of achingly obtuse thoughts.

Semi touches their foreheads together and he’s smiling softly and it requires all of Shirabu’s will power to not kiss him again, except, he does, because he _can_ , and what’s more is Semi will kiss him back. 

“You _like_ me. You like _me_ ,” Shirabu says, sounding incredulous, and Semi nods, laughing, endearing and lovely. They walk out hand in hand, and their friends have moved on to a different game—Uno, complete with photoshopped cards by Tendou Satori himself, who winks back at them, obvious and with undisguised, smug joy, and Kawanishi, sitting next to Tendou, raises his glass at Shirabu, who nods back, aware that the smile on his face is threatening to cleave it in half.

Three hundred and sixty-five days later, Shirabu will wake up in the late afternoon light to Semi, whose smile is bright and soft, and Shirabu will feel it in his bones; the light paints Semi in golds and buttercup yellows and in the silence of hushed reverence and unadulterated adoration, Shirabu’s well and truly in love.

**Author's Note:**

> (many many thanks to sarah (for sort of beta-ing and crying with me), chloe (for photoshopping Uno cards), saz and madhavi and paucha baegun (for validating me i feel god in this chilis tonight) happy holidays and let me die)


End file.
